


Close Your Eyes and Dream

by aidennestorm



Series: Daddy's Calling [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Father/Son Incest, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: After each morning breaks and the dread slips slowly away with every murmured prayer, it is easier to imagine that one horrifying evening as only a hallucination. A nightmare. But before dawn, during the black of night—Everywhere, reminders.Washington grapples with his guilt, and Hamilton pushes more boundaries.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Walkerbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkerbaby/gifts).



Washington does not rise until the first beams of light spill into the room, though his sleepless gaze has been tracing the whorls in the wood grain of the rafters for hours. His back creaks from another cold night with nothing more than a blanket beneath him, but he eases onto his knees and bows his weary head.  _Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name…_

After each morning breaks and the dread slips slowly away with every murmured prayer, it is easier to imagine that one horrifying evening as only a hallucination. A nightmare. But before dawn, during the black of night—

Everywhere, reminders. The ink stain on the floorboard under the desk announces  _But whoremongers and adulterers God will judge_. The bed, once shared and now empty of even his own body, proclaims _Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is an abomination_. And worse, the letter, that damnable letter, now only cold ashes in the fireplace, declaring  _None of you shall approach to any that is near of kin to him, to uncover their nakedness_.

He senses them, accusatory and unceasing in the dark, and protests  _If I had known—_

 _You did,_ they retort.  _You took him anyway_. 

 _A mistake made in anger!_  He feels the echoes of Hamilton’s hard, throbbing pulse, the heat of his slack mouth, and bile rises in his throat.

 _A mistake made in desire,_ they correct. 

_I would not—I could not—_

_Liar. Monster. Your sins are legion._

When the aides and officers awaken under the shining sun, it is often easier still to build an inner fortress of silence. His men are vibrant, energetic, accomplished, bringing with them strategies and correspondence and information, and in their presence he is never anything less than their General. There is a war to fight, after all, and in his waking moments he strives for his mind to turn nowhere else, not when the cause of liberty seems so fraught and uncertain. 

Except—

As they work over maps and dossiers, he is forced to look into the eyes of his brightest soldier, his most brilliant aide, truthfully the most exceptional man he has ever known…

And Jericho falls, with Hamilton wielding the ram’s horn.

"Sir, it would be better if I—"

" _No_.” Washington admonishes. He does not move from his rigid stance in front of the fireplace, continuing instead to stare into the heart of the flames. “I will not give you a command."

Hamilton’s scowl is evident in his voice when he counters, "You will not even hear my question?"

"You are always asking for a command. The answer is still no. And my God, Hamilton, you are an intelligent man. You cannot believe I would trust you after—" He seizes the words before they stumble off his tongue, because to speak them is to acknowledge the truth lurking behind the rapidly crumbling wall of  _it did not happen, it should not happen, it will not happen—_

"Then I suppose this is the closest I will ever come.” 

Washington recognizes that tone, has heard it so often before a decisive artillery charge or a daring nighttime raid, when the wild grin on Hamilton’s face and the flush of victory in his cheeks would utterly captivate— _Stop,_ he commands himself, and mentally shoves the vision away—and he recognizes, too, that this time he is the prey lured to the snare. Hamilton's sentence gnaws on his heels and he struggles to ignore it, to let the ache exist without thought or acknowledgement, until he hears a quiet rustle in the vicinity where Hamilton stands. 

 _And the trap is sprung._  He intends to do nothing. But against his better judgment, against all  _reason_ , he turns.

He does not expect this: Hamilton now standing by the desk, only a few short feet away, his General's tricorn hat askew and slipping over Hamilton’s forehead. It covers half his eyes but they glitter mischievously in the dim light. It reminds him suddenly, forcefully, of a young Jacky shirking his studies to instead slink through his wardrobe, appearing wearing coats many times too large, the smile on his young face matched only by the cheerfulness when he would exclaim—

"I see why you wear it, sir. It's imposing.” Hamilton's voice drags him from what was to what _is,_ the arch of his eyebrows barely visible under the hat's brim. His smirk is unmistakably, undeniably provocative. “Very… _weighty_.” 

His stomach rolls, even as the taunt slides hot under his skin. "Cease this," he snaps; the building rage settles better than the sick, uncontrollable thrum of anticipation.  "You are acting like a child."

"You would know best how your child is supposed to act, of course," Hamilton remarks. Casual. Unconcerned. He takes one step, another, until the space between them is only a formality. "And how will you punish me if I don't comply? Was one hand on me not enough?"

It stuns him like a blow. All the air and fury escapes his lungs, his tongue rendered thick and useless. When he finally finds his words, they are stilted, inadequate under the gravity of his shame. "My actions were... they were abhorrent. I should never have... _touched_ you. I am so—"

“Keep your apologies,” Hamilton interrupts. "I have no use for them.” He tilts his head to look at Washington's face, the hat tipping precariously over his hair. His lashes flutter brazenly; such an act was—is—a temptation, every time. Hamilton’s breath is warm on his cheek when he murmurs, "There are far better reparations.”

Sure as the sun rises in the east, as it sets in the west, as it has already set on his contemptible soul, he knows what Hamilton is about to do.

He doesn't stop it.

With a sorrow so deep it destroys him in the very marrow of his bones, he stands motionless and accepts the kiss Hamilton places upon his lips. Worse, returns it. The moment his mouth parts and Hamilton's tongue slips inside, his blood rushes from his crown to his soles, calling _Alexander, my right hand, my beloved._ He claims it as a man starved: the taste of Alexander's skin, the shape of his lips. Even though his mind screams in dismay _my son—_

It is Alexander who pulls away first. 

He smiles, and Washington is undone. 

"I forgive you," Alexander says, sweeping and gracious—like Washington's world, his _father's_ world, is not shattering before him. He stands on his toes, lifting the hat from his head to perch it on Washington's. 

And Washington barely breathes as their bodies, equally taut with arousal, brush too much but still not enough.... and when Alexander saunters away, his hips swaying, promising, "I will call upon you later, sir," Washington does not meet his gaze. 

 _The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked,_ he hears, a whisper across the nape of his neck like a noose, and he closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I promised Walkerbaby a fic where Hamilton wears Washington's hat. This is... probably not what either one of us were expecting, but it's what happened. (I hope you enjoy it anyway and I will write a more fun one someday.) Many, many thanks go out to Walkerbaby for the virtual handholding (religious angst is no joke, 0/10 would NOT recommend) and for the insight that opened my eyes to the truth of this verse. Want to see [Hamilton wearing Washington's hat?](http://aidennestorm.tumblr.com/post/156165770937/aidennestorm-this-year-for-christmas-my-true) Want to know just how many [religious quotes/references](http://aidennestorm.tumblr.com/post/156166126542/close-your-eyes-and-dream-religious-symbolism) there are in this fic? Want to send prompts, ask questions, or squee? [You know where to find me.](http://aidennestorm.tumblr.com/)


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